


I'll Burn the World for You

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Murder, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Yata wasn't supposed to have been there.Misaki wasn't supposed to be gone.But it seemed as though things were never going to be the way they were supposed to be again, as Fushimi stood sheathed in blue and red.





	1. Chapter 1

_The stars that hadn’t seemed so impressive before, now caught his focus entirely as he found himself sprawled on his back. They were a bright light against the darkness that was creeping across his vision, a way to ground himself and distract him from the burning pain spreading across his abdomen and the fire that seemed to spread with each ragged breath he took. Pretty, he thought distantly, and for a moment, he could almost understand what Totsuka saw in them and why he had been so insistent on coming up here._

_Then Totsuka was there, leaning over him, lips moving in frantic motions, but Yata couldn’t hear him, the words lost in the echo of the gun going off and the roaring that seemed to have taken root in his ears. However, he didn’t need to hear them, to understand the fear and desperation in Totsuka’s eyes, and drawing on a strength he didn’t know he had right then, he reached out and wrapped trembling fingers around the other man’s wrist, squeezing as tightly as he could._

_I’m okay, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. And as he felt his eyes slipping shut, he threw everything he had into one last word, not sure if it even made it out before he lost the fight to keep his eyes open._

_“…hiko…”_

****

Fushimi grumbled under his breath as he settled at his desk that morning, eyeing the pile of paperwork waiting for his attention with narrow eyes, certain that there were more files than there had been when he’d headed home the night before. _Damn that Munakata,_ he thought, eyes darting to the door to their King’s office, wondering what the older man would do if he returned the favour one day, already knowing that Munakata’s desk would be free of paperwork. He knew it was a question he would never get the answer to, because as much as he hated to admit it, he did respect the man, and that meant doing his job, and the ridiculous amount of paperwork that came with it.

It didn’t improve his mood as he reached out and took the top file, and as he started to flick through it, he wondered if he could get away with going out on patrol later. It had been a while since he had tangled with Misaki, and it always made for a nice change of pace, although if he were asked, he would vehemently deny deliberately seeking out the vanguard. It was a more pleasant thought that spending the entire day going through these files, and he sat up a little straighter as he got to work, knowing that Awashima would be less likely to stop him if he got more done beforehand.

He had been working for an hour or so when he heard the distinctive click-clack of her boots against the polished floor and heading for his desk, and he fought back a sigh. _Speak of the devil,_ he thought, wondering what he had done this time to earn an early morning visit, even as he lifted his head to look at her. Only to come up short as he saw her expression. It was one that he could never remember seeing on her face, particularly in relation to him, a strange mix of hesitation, concern and something deeper that he couldn’t put a name to.

“Fushimi…” Even her voice sounded off, too gentle, and lacking the general disapproval that still coloured most of their interactions. “The Captain wants to see you.”

“About?” He asked, even as he pushed himself to his feet. There were many boundaries that he would push, but he did try to maintain a modicum of professionalism. Besides, there was something about the way she was acting that had him feeling uneasy. “Lieutenant?” He arched an eyebrow at her when there was no reply.

“It’s not my place to say.”

That made him feel even more uneasy, and he had to actually bite his lip to stop himself from snapping at her, instead falling into step as she turned to lead the way. The fact that she was coming with him was also new. She didn’t understand why Munakata chose to trust him and tried to stay out of it as much as possible, and he found himself studying her as they walked, trying to glean something from her expression. However, he found his attention wavering, noticing that the other Blues they passed on the way were looking at him oddly. Not with the wary suspicion that had greeted his arrival, or the respect that he had started to gain, but almost…sympathetic? He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t like not knowing what was going on, especially as all the reactions were making dread claw him.

Dread that had no reason, or outlet.

Still, he didn’t try and demand an answer from her, knowing that she wouldn’t change her mind and it was almost a relief when they reached Munakata’s offer. At least until she pushed the door open without knocking, a step that she had growled at him for ignoring countless times before and he very nearly said that aloud, stopping himself at the last minute. Glad that he had, as he saw that her expression had softened as she gestured him inside, and then closed the door firmly behind them, and he kept half an eye on her even as he glanced at Munakata. There was no comfort to be found from that quarter either because the other man was sitting tall and grave behind his desk, chin resting on steepled fingers, and the same strange mix of emotions.

“What is it?” Fushimi demanded, losing the battle against holding his sharp tongue as his uneasiness jumped up another notch. There was silence, and he could feel them sharing a look and scowled, not liking the secrecy. “If you’re not going to say anything, can I get back to work?” He was never in the mood for Munakata’s games, but this felt a hundred times worse, and he was already turning away, funnelling his uneasiness into irritation when Munakata finally broke the silence.

“It’s Yata Misaki…”

That made him falter for a moment, but he didn’t turn back, shoulders rigid. It wasn’t the first time the topic of his old clan, and a friend had come up, and he wasn’t in the mood to rehash it.

“I don’t care.”

“Fushimi…”

“What?!” Apparently, he wasn’t going to be given that option, and he whirled around, not for the first time questioning why he’d thought that this was a good idea. Munakata was on his feet, but there was none of the rare irritation that Fushimi might have expected. Instead, he looked almost pained, and it was a like being doused in cold water. “…Sir?”

“Will you sit…?”

“No,” Fushimi cut him off. “Tell me what is going on.” There it was again, the shared look and then Munakata sighed, looking his age for once before he lifted his head and met Fushimi’s gaze squarely. It was enough to have his heart pounding in his chest, but it was the words that followed that had the pounding becoming a roaring noise that threatened to consume him.

“Yata Misaki was murdered this morning.”

_Yata…was…_

_Misaki…was…_

“No.” He hadn’t meant to speak, if you could even call it that as the word forced itself in a broken croak between suddenly dry lips. “No…” It sounded distant, lost beneath the roaring in his ears as he staggered backwards, a roaring that was transforming, shaping itself into a wordless scream that filled his mind as he shook his head. _That’s not possible!_ He wanted to shout, but he had no more control over that than he did with the litany of ‘no’ that was still bubbling up, and all he could do was keep shaking his head, flinching back when he sensed rather than saw Awashima reaching out towards him. He didn’t want or need her comfort, because this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening…

“Fushimi.”

_Why? Why do you sound like that?_ Munakata was moving now, circling around his desk and trying to approach him and Fushimi retreated on unsteady legs. He didn’t want this. Munakata was aloof, even as meddled incessantly, so this evident concern terrified him.

“You’re lying,” he snarled, finally finding his voice. It came out cold and vicious. A demand for the words to be taken back, for Munakata to give that infuriating half-smile of his and say it had been a bad joke or a test of his loyalty. Not for Munakata to look at him solemn eyes, halting a short distance away, a hand held out whether to stop him bolting or offer comfort he didn’t know and didn’t care, as he held himself tense, ready to lash out if the other man came too close. “It’s a lie.” It came out far more pleading than he’d intended, and he wanted to curse because it wasn’t a plea. A plea meant that it was possible, and this wasn’t, this…

“Fushimi,” Munakata took a step forward, and then another, and there was something arresting in his voice that stopped Fushimi from bolting or lashing out, leaving him quivering, caught on the precipice between denial and acceptance. “Saruhiko…” The use of his first name had him trembling worse than ever, the roaring sound beginning to drain away now, leaving him with no escape from the words that followed. “I’m very sorry, but this was reported to us by Kusanagi Izumo, so I fear there is no lie here.”

_Kusanagi? Not Suoh?_ It was easier to focus on the ember of rage that rose with that question, than the fact that he couldn’t refute what his King was saying to him. _He couldn’t even say it himself…_ He shook his head, shying away from that thought, because that was skating too close to acceptance, and Yata…Misaki couldn’t be…

“He can’t be…” It crept out, and this time, he couldn’t deny that it was a plea, desperation piercing through his anger. _I was going to fight him later,_ he thought, heart twisting in his chest. _I wanted to see him and for him to see me._ It was never about the fighting, it never had been, but at some point that had become the only way for them to communicate, although never about anything that mattered, he fought, the twisting sensation become a physical ache. “I…” _I need to see him. I need to tell him…_ What he didn’t know. He just knew that he needed to see him, to prove that this was a lie or a terrible misunderstanding, and then punch the idiot for worrying him like this, and he was moving before the thought had fully formed.

Awashima stepped into his path at once, blocking the way to the door and his hand was on the hilt of his sword before he’d even blink and he could see that she was struggling to refrain from doing the same. “Move.” It wasn’t a request, and he ignored the quiet voice in the back of his head that told him he shouldn’t be doing this.

He had to see Misaki.

Now.

“Awashima, let him go.” He didn’t want to owe Munakata anything, but he was grateful when Awashima hesitated for all of a moment before stepping aside with a sigh. It was clear she wasn’t happy about it, and he kept his hand on the hilt, half-expecting her to still try and reach out to stop him. She didn’t, and he slipped out of the room before breaking into a run, not caring about the people that scattered out of his way or the eyes that he could feel on his back, the sympathy in them making him feel sick to his stomach.

_Stop looking at me like that, he’s not dead._

_He can’t be dead._

_Misaki…_

_Please._


	2. Chapter 2

It was like the night that he’d tried to hack Jungle, back before they had been anything more or less than friends. He’d never forgotten the terror of that night, the thought that he might have lost the one spark in his otherwise mundane world, just because he had wanted something more. Even after everything that had happened between them, the schism formed by his choices, he still had nights when the memory of that day would have him bolting upright in the middle of the night. Today was worse. It was terror, and dread, and a slow, creeping chill as he felt reality trying to break through the shaky walls of his denial.

_He can’t be dead._

The idea was laughable because Misaki was fire and life and noise. The thought that that could have been taken away from the world, from him, was unbearable.

HOMRA had never seemed so far away, and yet at the same time, it seemed no time at all before the once familiar sign came into sight. Too soon, and when he pulled up at the curb in the car, he’d taken from SCEPTER 4 – choosing not to think about the fact that Munakata must’ve known what he was planning, and told the others, as he’d faced no resistance when he’d left – he found himself unable to move from the car. The truth lay inside that bar, and suddenly he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the truth. If he was wrong if Misaki was… _He’s not dead!_ He tried to say it, shaken by how shaky the denial had been this time, but the words wouldn’t come, trapped behind the lump that had risen in his throat.

_Misaki, you can’t be gone?_

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold the doubts at bay.

_Instead, all he could see was Yata stood in front of him, the same shit-eating grin that had first broken through his walls and that he’d later come to resent, firmly in place as the vanguard tilted his head in question._

_“Stop thinking so hard, Saru,” Yata turned away, the smile dimming just a little. “Sometimes it’s best just to go with it…” He stepped away and Fushimi reached for him, and he must’ve made a noise because Yata glanced back at him, and then he was gone, crimson sparks dancing in the space where he’d been, Fushimi’s fingers closing on nothing._

Fushimi jerked upright, eyes flying open, but there was nothing there. Just him, and the looming sign of the HOMRA bar. His imagination playing tricks on him, although it had been an echo of so many of their conversations, only in the past he had been the one to walk away. The scar over his HOMRA mark was itching and burning, in a way that it hadn’t for months, and he reached for it, pressing his hand to the scarred skin. _But what if I can’t go with it? What if doing that, means losing…you?_ There was no answer, and he let out a strangled laugh as even his own thoughts abandoned him.

It was more a case of not knowing what else to do, feeling lost in a way he’d never felt before, that saw him eventually step out of the car. Reluctance dripped from each step as he headed for the bar, unable to stop his gaze from drifting down the street where he had found Yata all those years ago, remembering the relief that had gripped him when he’d found him, the panic that had eased as he’d gripped the shorter teen and seen for himself that he was okay. _Please, let me find that again today…_ He was going to throttle the vanguard when he saw him, he just wasn’t sure if that would be before or after he’d reached for him and seen for itself that it wasn’t true.

_Misaki._

He told himself that, and yet his hand still shook as he reached for the door, registering the unnatural quiet on the other side of it. Usually, unless everyone was out on a mission, the bar would be full of life and laughter. It had been too much for him most of the time, although he’d never been able to bring himself to stay away because Yata had been there. _He’s still there,_ he corrected himself, and this time it sounded like a lie even to him, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. The walls were crumbling now, past and present muddling together as even in the safety of his own mind, the doubts grew stronger than the denials he was so desperately trying to cling too.

“Misaki!” He’d moved without thinking, bursting into the bar with a shout.

Silence greeted his entrance.

The bar was full. It seemed as though nearly every member was there, filling the stools and booths, and yet despite that it was quiet, and there was something in the air that Fushimi wasn’t ready to give a name to. All eyes were on him, but no one spoke or reached for their weapons, and Fushimi felt something in his chest quiver.

“Fushimi…” It was Kusanagi, looking older and wearier than Fushimi had ever seen him who stepped forward, and Fushimi took a step backwards because there was a truth in the older man’s eyes that he wasn’t ready to face, shaking his head. _No._ His eyes darted around, searching for Misaki, searching for some hint that this was an elaborate, needlessly cruel prank. He found anger and shock…and grief. _No…_ The denial was weaker this time, even in the safety of his own mind, and then his gaze from Totsuka and everything came crumbling down.

Totsuka looked broken.

But it was the red, not the hated crimson glow of Suoh’s fire, but something darker that covered his front, and the trembling hands that he was holding clasped in his lap. Fushimi didn’t need to move closer to know what it was, he’d seen more than enough of it in his time, and it felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach…or maybe the entire world, and for a moment, he was frozen. Staring. Shaking, as everything came crumbling down. The walls, the denials. Until all that remained was his heart hammering in his ears and the blood that spoke louder than the silence around him.

“Where?” He managed to force out, unable to recognise the sound of his own voice as he stared at Totsuka, waiting for him to speak, but the other man just shook his head, mute as tears trickled down his cheeks. “Where is…?” He had taken a step forward, anger was an easier emotion to focus on than whatever else he was feeling, and there was too much, a storm of feelings that were threatening to tear him apart with each ragged breath he took, but before he could reach him and do something he probably wouldn’t regret, Kusanagi stopped him.

“He’s upstairs.”

Fushimi didn’t reply, but he did turn away from Totsuka, and with a glance at Kusanagi, he headed for the steps, waiting for someone to try and stop him, although he couldn’t bring himself to reach for his sword. _I was supposed to fight him…_ But there was nothing, not even a protest as he disappeared up the stairs, and somehow that made it a thousand times worse. He wanted something to fight, something that he could hurt. Anything that could contain the storm threatening to carry him away.

Instead, he found Anna.

The strain was stood waiting for him at the top of the stairs, and he found himself unable to hold her gaze. She had always seen too much, and he was sure that she’d had at least an inking of the path he was going to take long before he’d made that choice. Sometimes he was glad she hadn’t said something, other times like now, he wished that she had. Maybe then he could have made a different choice, could’ve found a way to bridge the distance that had grown between him and Misaki. Then he wouldn’t have left, and Misaki…

Perhaps she knew because she didn’t say anything and stepped aside, letting him head for the door behind her. He was grateful for her silence, as he moved passed her, but just as he’d opened the door, she finally spoke up, her voice so soft that for a moment he thought he’d imagined it.

“You were his last thought, his last word…”

“I…” He turned around, but she was gone, disappearing down the stairs and for half a moment he was tempted to chase after her. _I was his…last?_ He felt sick to his stomach, his heartbeat so loud now that it seemed to fill the space around him, and slowly he turned back to face the room.

_Misaki._

Two steps took him into the room.

Three steps and he realised that Mikoto was there.

Four steps and he realised that the King hadn’t seen him, gaze locked on the covered figure on the couch across from him.

Five steps and his breath caught in his chest as he caught a glimpse of chestnut hair beneath the white material.

Six steps brought him to his knees, a noise that was half sob and half frantic denial bubbling up.

“Misaki?” He whispered, unable to tear his gaze away from the still figure, desperately searching for some sign of life, for anything that would shatter this reality that he didn’t work. “Misaki…?”

Suoh moved then, rising to his feet and Fushimi looked at him, struck by how human the man looked in that moment. Not a King. Not a Monster. Just someone who was as lost and grieving as he was, although that was lost beneath a wellspring of anger, that darkened the eyes that settled on him for a long moment before Suoh turned away. Moving across to the window and looking out across the city as he lit a cigarette.

Giving him the illusion of privacy, he realised.

He didn’t trust his legs to hold him right then, everything feeling as though it was in flux, and so he shuffled on hands and knees to the side of the still figure. _Please…_ He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for anymore, no denials coming to mind, no lies that he could tell himself to quell the hammer beat of his heart in his ears. It took him several attempts to get his arms to move, and more to reach out and slowly pull away the cloth concealing the figure’s face, the beating of his heart becoming a roar, and then white noise.

Misaki looked strangely peaceful, as though he had just gone to sleep.

“Misaki,” Fushimi whispered, forcing himself to reach out again, fingers brushing too-pale skin. “Misaki, it’s time to wake up,” he added, ignoring how cool to the touch the vanguard felt. Yata had never been cold, even before he’d been part of the red sanctum, he had been the one source of warmth and light in Fushimi’s life. He wasn’t meant to be cold. _Why? Why are you cold?_ He nudged Misaki again, his entire body this time, disturbing the sheet that had covered the rest of Misaki’s body, and he couldn’t breathe because there was red now, the same terrible, world-shifting red that had covered Totsuka’s clothes. What was worse was the sight of Misaki’s chest, unmoving…

For a moment, everything disappeared, Fushimi retreating deep inside himself. _You were his last…_ It was Anna’s words that foiled his attempt to escape, because how could he? How could he walk away from this? From Misaki?

When he had been his last.

There was a sob rising now, and he made no effort to stop it. It would have been like trying to hold back the tide or preventing Misaki from breaking through his walls in the first place. Instead, he let it rise, lifting his head, and studying the vanguard.

Misaki looked small like this. It had always amused Fushimi that Yata had never really grown because with the size of his spirit and personality, he should have towered over him. Not that he’d needed to in order to fill the space around him, even after their split, Fushimi had been unable to escape his orbit. Still, drawn towards him, as irrevocably as he had been that first day.

Anger followed.

Anger that this had happened, that someone had taken Misaki from the world. From him. And beneath it all, a rising, incandescent rage at the vanguard himself, because he’d warned him. How often had he told Misaki that HOMRA was eventually going to lead to his death? Especially with how Misaki was always the first to rush in, the first to risk himself if he thought it would protect his clan, his King.

He was crying, tears streaking down his cheeks, but he was furious, his aura beginning to glow and spread, reaching out to destroy, to hurt. Until it brushed against something stronger, and just as angry, and he found himself turning, drawn towards it, somehow unsurprised to find that Suoh had turned around and was watching them. Only this time, it as the King that faced him, flames dancing in the golden eyes and around his hands.

“We’re going to make them pay.” It was a promise, not a threat, and Fushimi could see it in his eyes. This wasn’t going to be about justice, it was vengeance and for once he didn’t care. There was a small voice in the back of his mind that sounded remarkably like Munakata, warning him against what he was about to do, but it fell silent as he glanced at Misaki. He’d played in the cage, he’d followed the rules, and he’d lost the one thing that truly mattered to him.

_Sometimes it’s better to just go with it._

He leant forward, pressing his head to Misaki’s and lingering like that for a moment, eyes closed. _I never wanted to be right,_ he told the vanguard, guilt stirring beneath the anger and grief. _I should have stayed with you,_ he added, echoing his earlier thoughts from when he’d seen Anna _._ There were no answers, no absolution, Misaki had died without knowing the truth, and yet he’d still thought of Fushimi at that moment.

“I’m going to make them pay,” he whispered to Misaki as he opened his eyes. Hands trembling worse than ever as he readjusted the sheet he’d dislodged, fingers lingering over patches of dried blood for a moment before pulling away. It was harder to replace the small cloth over Yata’s face because as painful as it was too look at him, and see the peaceful expression, it was worse to cover it as it felt like a farewell. An admission that this was true, and that Misaki was really gone.

Slowly, feeling Suoh’s eyes on him, he rose to his feet, unsteady even though his resolve was set. The power of the red King had always made him uncomfortable, even when he had reached for his hand for the first time and passed the test. Today, Suoh’s power was swirling around the room. Angry, wild and hungry for something to devour.

Fushimi didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the room in measured steps, holding Suoh’s gaze, easily quelling the part of him that was telling him that this was a mistake. That he was turning his back on more than he stood to gain. He had to admit that thinking of Munakata gave him pause, but not enough to make him slow down or even hesitate. _It was always Misaki,_ he thought by way of apology, although there was more truth than he cared to admit in those words. It had been Misaki that had led him to HOMRA, at least in part it was Misaki that had made him seek out the blue clan, and it was Misaki who had called him back.

The flames around Suoh’s hands grew as he approached, more potent than anything he’d experienced from the King, and deep down, he was still afraid. But it was a distant fear, lost beneath the fury and grief, the regrets that sat like leaden weights in the pit of his stomach and meeting the King’s gaze he stepped into Suoh’s aura. “You’ll make them pay?” He asked, voice steady, the tears on his face fading in the heat of the man’s power.

“We’ll make them pay,” Suoh repeated, and the flames sprang higher as he held out his hands in invitation. Fushimi didn’t hesitate, fixing Yata in his mind’s eye as he stepped forward and took both hands in his, jaw clenched as the red surged through him. Searching. Probing. It burned him, burrowing deeper than it had the first time, finding his blue and raging around it, and he took it all. _For Misaki._ It seemed to last a lifetime, but in actuality, it had only been seconds before he found himself staggering back, red engulfing his own hands. A cold smile lighting his lips as he stared at the flames, before lifting his head to look at his King.

“Who did this?”


End file.
